


Yield

by cyfarwydd



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Captivity, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyfarwydd/pseuds/cyfarwydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Sateda they had a saying: Every warrior must rest, for even the strongest man can break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yield

 

On Sateda they had a saying, it went something like, ‘Every warrior must rest, for even the strongest man can break.’ Ronon had learned as a runner that that advice had its pitfalls. The only times he had ever rested after his capture had lead to death and destruction to the innocent people of the various worlds he traversed. It had taken over a year for him become relentless in the hunt; he learned to be vigilant and tireless. He managed not to break in the most obvious ways, he kept his sanity, he kept his strength, and most importantly he kept his life, the only things that mattered on the run. It was only with these things that he could continue to kill the Wraith and avenge his people.

And then he came upon strange people who offered their aid and wanted nothing in return. They told him ‘Rest, it is over.’ This was something Ronon could not do. He no longer knew how.

He chose instead to wander the city of the Ancients, Atlantis as they called it. He saw how the man he had first captured, Sheppard, commanded his people with strength. He lounged and lazed but Ronon could sense the sharp edged awareness underneath the idle grin.

The woman, Teyla, was always moving- she had a peaceful air about her, but her mind was quick and her soothing words bellied the constant calculations he could see in her eyes. And when she was not needed, she was often in the sparring room, training her body. Even her meditation was not rest, but rather a necessity in order to maintain control. 

However, the one who most fascinated Ronon was the man who had been caught in his trap on the sun world. He soon learned that he was a scientist and a warrior in his own way. Through dismissive stories told by others, and time spent observing him, Ronon saw that McKay was integral to the city and its people. He listened as the man bragged and whined in equal part, and watched as he came through in the end. His thoughts were endless and exhausting, even his movements showed his alertness, constant motions with his hands, the twitching and orienting of his body towards whoever he was addressing.

Ronon had never witnessed him resting. His body perhaps, but never his mind. He reminded Ronon of himself. The difference being that Ronon often let people believe that he was empty of thought and complexities. He made himself a simple man with simple needs, one who often appeared to be relaxed. It was a façade he learned early on in the hunt. It allowed him to pass through townships when needed without drawing attention, as much as he could with his appearance. Though he often tried to stick to uninhabited planets, at times it couldn’t be avoided, and the only way to allow any kind of safety to the people he encountered was to pass by swiftly and leave little to no knowledge of him in their minds. The Wraith who chose to hunt him were random, he was a sport, an amusement to be had on their own time. If he wasn’t detained and spent less than a few hours at any given time in one populated location, it almost never resulted in a culling.

Still, the guilt drove him to stay away as much as possible.

For the first time since his capture, he was given the opportunity to be around others without the constant fear of bringing death on their heads. He watched these soft scientists, these diplomats, and he felt very old, for all of his twenty-six years. Young among both his own, and the Earth cultures.

He found that he felt most accepted among Sheppard and his team.

They were all weary in their own way.

He did not attempt to fill the role of their missing comrade, and nor did they offer it. Instead he gradually made his own place among them.

The Colonel gave him easy acceptance, he did not question Ronon beyond security measures, and he understood what it was to have the blood of countless people on his hands. He too felt the thirst to exterminate the Wraith, though not as strong as Ronon’s. With him, Ronon felt as close to the easy going, vacuous nature that he chose to exude on a normal day. As close as he could come anyways.

The Athosians were a simple farming and trading people who often died very young. Though their culture was far behind what Sateda once was, Teyla’s understanding on what it was to be isolated and hunted was better than any of the other’s. She too had grown up with the stories of the cullings, and her people often died in battles over territory. Sparring with her, relying on instinct more than technique, allowed him a measure of peace. He fell naturally into his role as a warrior, as a protector.

McKay brought a unique comfort that was not so easy nor as obvious.

The man’s personality seemed to annoy the majority of the people he interacted with, yet for all his arrogance, he had the skills to back it up. And beyond that, he felt with such intensity that it often took Ronon aback. All the others maintained an understandable distance; their loyalty and caring was unquestionable, and often unexpressed. But around McKay, you knew exactly what he was thinking, and his face and body expressed with painful clarity what it was that he was feeling.

Around him, Ronon felt as if he could breathe for the first time in a great many years.

To be around such strong human emotion was a wonder he had thought he’d never experience again. It was an easy gift that too few could allow themselves to give. It was sometimes brutal honesty, and aching regret that could not be put into stumbling words. When Ronon was around McKay, he could let the man’s emotions wash over him and sit back; he did not have to maintain his usual anxiety, because he trusted that McKay would think of any possible dangers before they came upon them. He could tease and confess and know exactly what the other man was thinking. There was no deception in him, nothing to be wary about.

Around Rodney McKay, Ronon could rest. 


End file.
